The Ride of Uther
by Kiri-Ryu
Summary: All know about Uther, Hector's older brother and the Marquess of Ostia until his untimely death. But few know his story, about how he got the scars that mark his face and how he proved his worth to the rest of Elibe. This is his story.
1. Homecoming

Uurg, I feel horrible. I've been sick for the past three days. Anyway, this is something that I've been writing between my Saga of the Discarded chapters. Since it's unlikely that I'll be updating that for a while, I'm going to be posting this up as way of compensating. I want some feedback on it, so please don't hesitate to review.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fire emblem. There are a few things I do own that will be cropping up, but I'll let you know about them when they turn up.

* * *

**The Ride of Uther**

A Fire Emblem Fanfic by Kiri-Ryu

'Regular speech'

_(Thoughts)_

_Writing and dreams_

_-_

**Chapter One:** **_Homecoming_**

_When I had received the news, I had been so shocked. He had seemed so vibrant and full of life, and had never fallen a day sick when I was travelling with him. But... For him to have died from illness, it had shocked me to my core. I am not ashamed to admit that I loved him, and that I regret not spending more time with him. I should have told him... I should have let him know before he died. But, how could I? I suppose for you to understand what I talk of, you must first hear the full story, not just the romanticised version portrayed in the famous ballad: The Ride of Uther. It all started over eight years ago, eight years before the events of the Black Fang incident. Elibe was ridden with bandits at that time, and there were rumours of them forming their own nation, nestled between south Sacae and north Bern. To wander between towns was a guaranteed way to be waylaid. Numerous complaints had been sent to the nobility, but their complaints had gone unanswered. The bandits populated, and spread their reach to the entirety of Elibe. It seemed as if nothing would stop them. But then, the oldest legitimate son of Marquess Ostia returned from his training in Etruria...

* * *

_

He strode purposefully through the corridors of Castle Ostia, his purple cloak swaying behind him. His green coloured plate mail armour clinked with every step and accompanying it was the tapping of a polearm shaft hitting the ground. His face, still youthful at twenty years of age, was clean-shaven and was framed by his shoulder-length navy blue hair. His eyes, which were a slightly lighter shade of blue than his hair, stared resolutely in front of him, towards a large oaken door. He reached the door and twisted the brass handle. Inside was the work office of the Marquess of Ostia.

The Marquess himself, Lord Raeric Dyrant by name, looked up from the various papers scattered across his desk. Like the man before him, he had deep blue eyes, but his hair, which had been cropped short, was a much lighter colour. He was tall, easily reaching 6'5 and was quite muscular. He was in his early forties, and his face was just beginning to line with age. He was wearing a blue coat, with the coat-of-arms of Ostia on its sleeve (Two Lances crossed over a tower shield). Upon seeing the man enter the room he smiled.

'Welcome home, Uther.' He stood up and looked his son up and down. 'I trust your six months in Etruria went well?'

'Quite well.' Uther responded, leaning the polearm he was carrying with him on a nearby wall. 'I learned a lot from Weapons Master Kaelman. Oh, and I bring tidings from Lord Miryd.' He handed a folded piece of parchment over to his father, who gave it a quick glance then set it aside on his desk.

'So, what did you learn?' Lord Raeric asked.

'Well, aside from my daily training sessions with Master Kaelman, I had various history and military tactics lessons.' Uther shrugged. 'I have to admit, Master Kaelman taught me a lot about the usage of the Lochaber Axe.' He glanced at the weapon that leant on the wall beside him. The long shaft was made from Yew wood, on top if it was a slightly curved, axe-like blade with a cruelly curved hook attached behind it. The weapon was designed to pull mounted units off their horses with the hook, then to hack into their armour with the axe-blade. It was a challenging weapon to wield properly, but Uther found that he preferred it to the sword or the regular axe.

'However,' He turned to look once again at his Father. 'On my return trip, my group was waylaid by bandits no less than four times. This problem is getting out of hand, we have to do something!'

'Uther,' Lord Raeric looked levelly at his son. 'You know that I cannot make that decision by myself. We need the full backing of the Lycia Alliance Council to launch a counter measure force against them.'

'Father!' Uther stepped forward, urgency and anger in his voice. 'We **must** do something soon! The people are losing confidence; every second caravan is being robbed. People are needlessly dying and trade is at an all-time low! And-'

'And if I try to do anything about it now, then I risk angering the Alliance!' Raeric pulled himself to his full height and glared down at his son. 'Would you rather wait and have the full Lycia Alliance Army fighting off the bandit scum, or face a force of thousands by yourself?'

Uther averted his gaze, silently letting his anger vent. 'How long until the next Council meeting?' He asked his father.

'A week at the most.' Lord Raeric relaxed slightly. 'We'll resolve what we have to do then.'

'Now, let us hope that we have a week before this gets out of hand.' Uther looked back at his father, sighed, then smiled again. 'Still, it is good to be home. Where's Hector? Usually when I get back, he ecstatically greets me.'

'Ah.' The tension floated from the room, and Lord Raeric grinned. 'Whilst you were away, Lord Elbert sent his son over for education. Hector made fast friends with young Eliwood, and I expect that they were playing outside somewhere when you arrived.'

'Eliwood? Well I never...' He chuckled, then stretched his arms out. 'Well, I'll go gather my stuff and move back into my room.'

'Make sure to greet your mother. She's been worrying about you for weeks.'

Uther nodded, still smiling, grabbed his Lochaber axe and moved out of the room. He walked down the familiar corridors until he came to his room. Opening the door, he saw that the servants had already moved his things in. He placed his Lochaber axe to the side, then he began to remove his armour. He changed into a loose, blue tunic with cream britches. He sighed with relief, glad to be out his stuffy armour. He then moved once again out of his room to look around the castle. He strolled leisurely, and greeted all the servants he came across. He eventually ended up in outside, and habitually heading towards the training grounds. He paused when he reached there, and then leant on a tree and smiled.

Before him, two figures duelled; both of them were using padded weapons. The shorter of the two was using a rapier, and was quite nimble on his feet. He had a little trouble using the weapon, but that was to be expected. His opponent was much more clumsier, and he swung around a battle axe. Although he was taller and more muscled that his opponent, he was having a lot of problems using the axe properly. Again, that was to be expected. The axe-wielder lifted his weapon over his head, then swung it down at his opponent. The nimbler man dodged easily out of the way then he thrust his weapon clumsily, managing to score a hit. The axe wilder yelped then sprang away, almost toppling over as the axe's weight pulled him backwards. The sword wielder laughed and Uther placed his hand over his mouth to stifle his own mirth. He was noticed at that point, and the two duellists turned to look at him. The axe wielder grinned wildly and called out to him. Uther walked forward and then was mobbed by his nine-year-old brother.

'Uther! You're back!' Hector looked up at his older brother and grinned.

'Of course I am.' Uther placed his hand on his brother's head and ruffled up his hair. Hector swatted at his hand, but the grin remained on his face.

'I see that you've been training with the axe. Going to use Wolfbeil then, eh?' He asked. Hector nodded enthusiastically.

Wolfbeil was the Dyrant family heirloom, passed down through each generation. It was the weapon of Roland's first-born son; the second Marquess of Ostia. Uther would have inherited it, but he had decided to use the Lochaber axe instead. So, when his little brother Hector had reached seven years of age, Uther had given it to him. He had trained with the weapon as often as he could, and had refused help from the weapons teachers around Ostia. He was really clumsy with the weapon, since it had been designed for battle-hardened warriors, not nine-year-old kids. But, considering the difficulty he had wielding the thing before, he had progressed rather well. Uther smiled: when Hector finally mastered Wolfbeil it would be a sight to see.

'And Eliwood!' He turned to face Lord Elbert's son. 'I never would have thought that you two would have become friends after your fight a few years ago.'

'Well, I forgave him.' The young red head said.

'But you were the one who started it!' Hector growled.

'No, you did!' Eliwood glared back.

'Whoa, settle down.' Uther leaned down and placed a hand on each one of their shoulders. 'We don't want a repeat of that fight.'

The two boys looked at each other, than sheepishly apologised. Uther sighed, standing up again. _(A disaster avoided... But for how long?)_ He mused. He thought back to the incident last year. It had been the annual meeting of the Alliance council and for the first time Lord Elbert had brought his son along. There was a few hours to socialize before the meeting went in to full swing, and during that time Eliwood had managed to worm away from his father's protective gaze. Just before the meeting initiated, Lord Elbert and Lord Raeric noticed that both their sons were missing; they searched the castle high and low before the two were found. They were in the middle of the garden, Eliwood pushing Hector's face back at a painful angle as Hector punched Eliwood repeatedly in the gut. Both were covered with numerous bruises and cuts from rose thorns. No-one knows (Or remembers) what prompted the fight, but for them to have gotten over it was a sheer miracle.

He snapped out of his thoughts as his younger brother and his friend excitedly called out to him, then lead him out into the gardens. Uther, with a small grin on his face, followed the two young boys, more to keep Hector happy than for his own amusement. Despite the impending conflict with the Bandits, Uther was at peace. The horrific events happening elsewhere seemed far and distant things that could never touch him.

For the first time in six months, he was home.

* * *

What do you think? Should I continue it? What needs to be changed? Review and let me know!

**Chapter Two: _Action Against the Infection_**

R&R please!

I am now going back to bed.


	2. Action Against the Infection

Ah, the second chapter. I'm really having fun writing this. The tone is just so much different to Saga of the Discarded, it's a nice change. Not as many reviews as I had hoped for, but that's not why I'm writing the story. This is MY fic, and I'm posting it no matter what.

_Review Response_

From the rumours I've heard, FF dot net has actually banned Review Responses. Whilst I'm not willing to risk my other fics in case this is true, I'm only on my second chapter with this so it's not going to take me that long to get this back up to it's former glory if it is taken down. I like responding to what other people have to say about me and it lets them acknowledge that I've read and apreciatedtheir reviews.

**_Lack thereof-_** Hey again! Why aren't you signed in? Meh, no matter. I'm glad you enjoy the story so far, I can only say that it's going to get even more awesome later on. I'm still just setting up the plot. I'm actually surprised that there wasn't an Uther fic before this one. I mean, everyone loves him, so why not write about him?

**_Sara Jaye-_** I was always planing to continue this story, it was just there was no point posting it up if no-one was going to read it.

**_Tenshi no ai-_** OMG! Someone I don't know from Saga of the Discarded! Anyway, thanks for the praise, I don't think anyone has ever complimented me for a title before… Thanks for the few tips too. I never noticed that I was spelling Wolf Beil wrong. Oh well. And yes, the people were loosing their confidence! Beware the loosed confidence! If you get too close, they'll maul your eyes out! BWAHAHA! And what does pendantic mean? Does it mean that you're too concerned with the rules and details of wearing pendants? Or was that a typo like "loosing" and you actually meant pedantic? Sorry, but I had to do that. ;P

Enough of my stalling, onto the chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fire emblem. There are a few things I do own that will be cropping up, but I'll let you know about them when they turn up.

Oh, a brief warning. The bandits are a bit foul mouthed. If you don't like reading the f-word or any other curse word, imagine a beep or something.

* * *

**The Ride of Uther**

A Fire Emblem Fanfic by Kiri-Ryu

'Regular speech'

_(Thoughts)_

_Writing and dreams_

-

**Chapter Two: _Action Against the Infection_**

Goran walked as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the rest of his troop. He panted heavily as they continued to climb up the steep slope. He used his sword as a prop, not caring that he was blunting the edge of the weapon. He stopped to catch his breath, then he readjusted his backpack and scrambled to reach the end of the line.

'Right!' Their leader yelled. 'We set up here!'

Goran sighed with relief, then let his backpack slip from his shoulders. He leaned against a tree, then undid his water skin and let the cool, refreshing water slide down his throat. He slumped down against the tree and closed his eyes.

Goran was barely thirteen and was well muscled for his age, although not as muscled as he should have been considering the amount of work he did. His hair was a bright red colour and was wild and full of knots. It reached to his mid-back and he kept it tied back with a strip of cloth. His eyes were a deep emerald green colour, if you looked at them long enough they seemed to swirl and dance. He was well tanned, he wore a dirt-stained brown tunic with black pants (Less dirt stained) and tattered, leather boots. He carried a longsword that was clearly too large for him. The blade was ill kept; rust stained it in places and there were many notches. A blue bandana was tied around his forehead, and a few strands of stray hair drifted over it.

'Oi, runt!'

Goran snapped open his eyes and turned to the person who addressed him: "Bloody Eye" Pete. Pete was grinning wildly, his bloodstained axe in his hand. His ill-kempt blond hair stuck out everywhere, and his left eye was severely bloodshot.

'You ready for your first raid, runt?' Pete asked. 'Or do 'ya wanna go cryin' back to camp?'

Behind him, others chuckled.

'Shut up Pete.' Goran responded. 'I can handle myself well enough in any fight. This'll be a piece of piss.'

'Fowl little bugger aren't 'ya?' He gave him a wonky-toothed grin. 'Mayhaps I should give ya' a lesson in your fuggn' manners?'

'And at the same time, I'll give you a lesson in how to breathe though your arse. You'll need it after I'm done with you.'

'Why you cocky piece of cat shit!' Pete grabbed Goran by the throat and slammed him against the tree. 'I shoul' gut ya here and now!'

'Put him down Pete. Unless you would like me to fuck your other eye up.'

All stopped, and silence rained down onto the group. They parted to let their leader through. He was as tall as a bear and as heavily muscled. His lower jutted out and was covered in thick black whiskers. His black hair was cropped short. His eyes were blue, and they shined in both compassion and unrivalled cruelty. Slung over his shoulder was a sword-axe, a hybrid weapon of a longsword and a battle axe. From the hilt of the weapon to two thirds of the blade, it was a regular sword, but in the final third of the blade it flattened out into an axe head. It was a deadly weapon, and one that was incredibly hard to use.

The man was named Zakris "BlackWyrm" Khanion, and he was their leader. His word was law, and all those who disobeyed the law died.

Pete moved slowly away from Goran, cringing from Zakris. Zakris crouched down to Goran and looked him in the eyes.

'You okay kid?' He asked soberly.

'I could have taken care of myself, BlackWyrm.' Goran replied. 'But your help was much appreciated.'

Zakris nodded, then stood up and glared at his group. 'Whoever harms the kid dies!' He roared out. 'Let him get his scars in battle, not in petty squabbles! And by harm, I mean physical injury, mental abuse and rape. You got me?'

The group nodded, and Bloody Eye Pete looked away in shame.

Goran was slightly embarrassed at having Zakris stick up for him like that. He could handle himself, damn it! But it saved the camp from breaking into a fight. Goran had looked up to Zakris as a father figure ever since he met him. He was the only survivor from a town fire, and alone in the wild he had turned into an almost bestial state. He had been seven. He had not known his father, and his mother had been too sick to work. It had almost been a relief when his town had burned down. A week after, he had encountered Zakris. Goran had foolishly tried to attack the BlackWyrm in his desperation for food. Instead of slaughtering him outright, Zakris had taken the half-starved Goran under his wing, showing him the tools of his trade.

The sound of a wagon rattling by disturbed Goran's thoughts. The group collectively tensed, and they waited for Zakris's word. The BlackWyrm grinned and hefted his sword-axe before him.

'Our quarry approaches, mates!' He said. 'Let us hearken to the beast's calls!'

A collective cheer arose from the group, and men moved to pick up their weapons. Goran picked up his rust-stained sword and ran towards the sound of the wagon with the rest of the band. Whoops and hollers filled the air, as well as the frightened screams of the merchants. Goran's heart beat excitedly and he yelled joyously with the rest of them.

The BlackWyrm Bandits claimed another victim.

* * *

The Chamber of Lycia slowly filled and the banners of various Lords and Ladies hung on the wall. Lord Raeric was already sitting at the seat of Ostia, watching impassively as the Lords of the other states of Lycia arrived. Uther stood behind his father's left shoulder, his arms behind his back. He wore a blue coat with gold embroidery on the sleeves and collar, the coat of arms of Ostia on its left breast. He also wore a white undershirt, with frills on the sleeves and collar, and blue breeches. His hair was neatly combed into a tail, and he had an impassive look on his face. 

Standing beside him, Hector fidgeted. He too wore a blue jacket with the Ostian emblem on its left breast, but he had brown coloured breeches and his white shirt didn't have frills. His face betrayed his boredom, it was clear that he would rather be somewhere else.

Uther nudged his younger brother slightly and gave him a retributive glance.

'We represent the noble house of Ostia. At least pretend to be interested.' He whispered.

'I'd rather be a commoner if it meant that I didn't have to attend these boring meetings.' Hector responded. Uther opened his mouth to say something, but then sighed and gave up. Hadn't he been like that once; being scolded by his father simply for looking drearily around the room? Let Hector have his youth. It wouldn't last too much longer.

The doors opened as Lord Elbert walked in, Eliwood by his side. Both were dressed in sharp blue coats, lighter than the ones that Uther and Hector wore. They too had their Emblem sown onto the left breast of their jackets. The Emblem of Pherae portrayed a red falcon, its wings spread wide and its head angling upwards. In it's talons it clutched a rapier. The two Pheraens moved over to their appointed spot on the council table and Lord Elbert sat down. Eliwood moved over to stand rigidly behind his father's left shoulder, although his bright blue eyes wandered around and observed the room curiously.

Following the Pheraens was Lord Darin, the Marquess of Laus. He strut into the room with arrogance pouring out of him, his head held high and his eyes looking down his nose at everyone else. Beside him trotted his nine-year-old son, Eric. He was beginning to show the signs of developing his father's arrogance, but he still had enough of his innocence to gawk in wonder at the scene ahead of him. The two from Laus took their seat opposite to the Ostian chair.

Then came Lord Hausen of Caelin. His face fas stern and lined deeply. His gaze was fierce, but pain also radiated out of him. It had been near twelve years since his daughter had eloped with a Sacaen man, and it looked as if Lord Hausen had still not gotten over it. Behind him strode his younger brother, Lord Lundgren. He was a lot calmer than his brother and he had an air of cockiness around him, almost comparable to that of Lord Darin. Lord Hausen took his seat and looked across the table impassively. Lundgren took his spot behind his brother's right shoulder.

Lady Annahel, the Marchioness of Toria, was the next to walk in. Leading her in by her arm was her son and Uther's half brother, Lord Orun.

Orun was a little bit of an embarrassment for both the Ostian and the Torian houses. Uther didn't know the full details, but he knew enough to piece together a full story. Twenty three years ago, when his father had been a rogue of sorts roaming around the countryside, he had been forced to take shelter within Castle Toria. Lady Annahel, a young woman back then with a head full of bubbly dreams, was enchanted by the dashing young Lord Raeric. And, as the wheels of fate churn, he eventually seduced her and bedded her. He left three days later, leaving the Love-struck Lady Annahel behind. Lord Raeric was engaged to Uther's mother soon afterwards. Weeks before the wedding, it was discovered that Lady Annahel was pregnant with Raeric's child: Orun. The court flew into chaos, with Raeric and Annahel in the centre of it. After a month of arguments and meetings, it was eventually decided that Raeric's marriage to the Lady Mirin could not be stopped. But he had to fund for all of Annahel's child's schooling as if he were his own legitimate son.

When Annahel succeeded the title of Marchioness she claimed Orun to be her official heir, even though he was illegitimate. The courthad beenin uproar about this, but Annahel would have no word of it.

Orun closely resembled his father. He was at least as tall as Uther, and his hair was the same shade of blue. But whilst Uther was strong and muscular, Orun was thin and nimble. His hair reached his shoulder blades and he kept it in a braid. His eyes were brown instead of blue and sheathed in a scabbard on his waist was a scimitar, an unusual weapon to say the least.

Lady Annahel took her seat to the left of Lord Raeric, Orun standing behind her right shoulder. He turned and looked at Uther.

'Brother.' Orun inclined his head, a small smile playing on his features.

'It's good to see you again, Orun.' Uther replied. 'Although the circumstances for our meeting are less than favourable.'

'Well, hopefully everything will be resolved here.'

Uther nodded at his brother, then turned to see that the council had filled. Bishop Weinard of the St. Emiline faith moved to the centre of the room and held up his hands. The room fell silent, and all eyes focused on the old man.

'I call order, so that the meeting of the Lycia Alliance Council may begin. I ask of our deity, Saint Emiline, to watch over this meeting and to lend us her wisdom and compassion.' He spoke. The Marquesses and Marchionesses bowed their head in respect for St. Emiline.

'I ask,' Bishop Weinard continued. 'For the first of the issues to be addressed to the council.'

There was a pause, before the Marquess of Araphen, Lord Kiran, stood up. He gazed around the room, before clearing his throat.

'I come to protest against the unfair taxes that Laus has imposed upon my merchants.' He said in a clear voice.

'What!' Lord Darin angrily stood up. 'Unfair? My taxes are nothing but fair considering the bandit raids!'

'You call 25 tax fair? All of my merchants are going bankrupt because of your greed Darin!'

'Well, I wouldn't have to put up my taxes if your merchants would sell their produce at a reasonable price!'

'Their price IS reasonable! If you had to trudge through bandit infected lands to sell your goods, you'd put your price up too! You have to make it worth your life, and your bloody taxes are doing nothing to help our situation!' Lord Kiran snarled, glaring hatefully over the table.

'We have all fallen on tough times, Kiran. My taxes are to ensure that my people are protected against the bandit scum!' Lord Darin snarled back.

'You came to this meeting to discuss Taxes and Merchants?' Lord Elbert entered the conversation. 'Surely, we have much more important things to discuss than this!'

'You may look down upon this, Marquess Elbert Samuel deLeon,' Lord Kiran sneered at Lord Elbert as he spat out his full name as if it was a vile curse. 'All know that of all the nations, Pherae fares the best, with your farms and your mines. But trade is the lifeblood of my nation! Without it, we would die!'

'How _dare_ you use my full name to spite me.' Lord Elbert's voice went cold, and he narrowed his blue eyes to glare at Lord Kiran. 'Pherae has fallen on just as hard times as the rest of Lycia. And though it is true that a lot of countries are worse off than us, it is because we actually do something about it, not just sit around and complain about it to anyone who will listen.'

'You think that all we do to remedy this situation is sit on our thrones and mutter angry complaints!' Lord Kiran all but screamed at Lord Elbert. 'This shows how truly arrogant you Pheraens have become!'

The room erupted into a singular large argument, with one lord trying to shout louder than the other and trying and make his point the more important. Only the houses of Ostia, Caelin and Toria remained silent. Uther folded his arms, and tried to think how stupid the Marquesses have become. He took a deep breath, then yelled at the top of his lungs.

'ARE YOU BLIND!'

The arguments stopped, and all turned to face Uther.

'You have no place voicing your comments here, Uther.' Lord Darin sneered. 'You are not a Marquess yet, and thus you have no right to speak on the council. Go back to Etruria and sip at your spiced tea whilst we get down to business.'

'Still your tongue, Lord Darin!' Bishop Weinard spoke up for the first time. 'All who are in this chamber have the right to speak, whether they are the Marquess of their land or not.'

Darin shut his mouth, but glared ruefully at both the bishop and Uther.

'Thank you, your grace.' Uther nodded to Bishop Weinard, then turned to face the Council. 'Why are we just sitting here? Our lands are being decimated as we speak! If Bern was to attack Lycia, we wouldn't stand for it! We'd assemble an army and lead them to face our invaders! And yet, when presented with the exact same situation, only with Bandits instead of Bern infantry, we just sit and twiddle our thumbs, making complains about taxes and the likelihood of people getting killed! You speak of the Bandits as if they were a natural disaster! A volcano that is about to erupt! Well, they're not.'

'And what do you suggest we do about it? Send an army into the mountains?' Lord Kiran suggested sarcastically.

'That's exactly what we should do!' Uther replied. 'A small percentage of each nation's army to be submitted to one, single army that's only purpose is to defeat the bandits that infect our land!'

'We can't just submit troops to a makeshift army!' Marquess Kiran argued. 'The troops would fight amongst each other! And who would lead them?'

'I would.' Uther responded. There was a moment's pause.

'WHAT!' Lord Darin exclaimed. 'There is no way that I would trust my troops to this... This young upstart! He's barely out of childhood! Each of us has more experienced units that could easily outmatch him!'

'Please do not speak as if I wasn't here, Lord Darin.' Uther said coldly.

'I, for one, would be happy to submit troops to this anti-bandit army.' Lord Elbert said, folding his arms. 'And more than happy for Uther to command them. Unlike your old and dusted knights, Darin, Uther has been trained in the latest Etrurain warfare methods. That, accompanied by the previous training he had here, would make him a perfect commander, I would think. Uther, you have my support.'

'My thanks Lord Elbert.' Uther inclined his head to the Pheraen noble.

'I, too, would lend my support to Uther.' Lady Annahel also stood up, looking defiantly at Lord Darin. 'Out of all of us sitting at this table, so far he has been the only one that has been willing to do anything about our problem.'

One by one, the Lords of Lycia gave their support to Uther and his cause. Uther welled up with pride; he would put a stop to this bandit nonsense by himself. Eventually, only Laus, Araphen and Caelin were left to give their support.

'I shall NOT lend part of my army to him.' Lord Darin proclaimed. 'Not until he proves himself worthy of commanding the army of Laus.'

'As much as I hate to agree with Darin,' Lord Kirin spoke up. 'In this, we share the same mind. However, I am willing to lend Uther and the Bandit Extermination Army supplies for their war.'

'Thank you.' Uther nodded his thanks. Although he would have preferred that Marquess Araphen had lent him some men, the supplies would not go astray. All that was left now was for Marquess Caelin to give his assent. Lord Hausen talked quietly with his brother, quietly discussing their choices. Uther folded his arms behind his back, and nervously waited for their response. A few minutes passed in total silence, and then finally Lord Hausen stood up. He cleared his throat before announcing his decision.

'Caelin has decided to lend aid to Uther and his cause to rid the land of bandits.' He said simply, before sitting down. Uther sighed in relief, his shoulders sagging down briefly. He then pulled himself up to his full height and looked around the room.

'I thank you all for allowing me this chance to strike back at the bandits that have been infecting this land.' He bowed down.

'Do us proud, Uther.' Lord Elbert commented, nodding towards the young warlord.

The rest of the meeting proceeded smoothly, with only a few minor arguments about trade. The sun settled upon the horizon, its dim red light danced upon the clouds giving the entire sky a dream-like quality. The lords of Lycia slowly left castle to return to their rented out inns. Uther watched them leave, then felt a great and sudden burden being placed upon his shoulders. The fate of Lycia, no, the fate of Elibe rested on his shoulders. If he failed, then bandits would flood the land and undo all that had been achieved. Uther straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin and stared into the darkening horizon.

He would not fail.

* * *

Another chapter up. I love political intrigue, don't you? As before, review and let me know what you think and what needs to be changed. 

**Chapter Three: _She of Dragon's Song._**

R&R please!


End file.
